


60 Marks

by Bearslayer



Series: The Gotham Prompts [7]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Violence, mentions of intentional self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: Zsasz fails to kill a mark.





	60 Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt received on Tumblr; "You're about as useful as the GCPD, do you know that?"

Zsasz stumbled into the manor, dizzy with pain and beyond irritated. His hit that night had gone horribly wrong. On Oswald's orders, he was supposed to take out a sort of rising star in the underworld, a young fellow named Flanagan. He was to hit him in his home, make it look like it was done by the jealous capo of the Irish Don, Sean Riley. It was supposed to create a rift in the normally indivisible group, to sew the seeds of distrust. What no one had known was that Flanagan was an exceptionally paranoid young lad with an exceptional knowledge of explosives. What no one had known was that Flanagan had set up traps throughout his apartment that only he knew how to get through. Victor was lucky to have made it out alive, luckier still to have only sustained some minor flesh wounds and a somewhat vicious looking burn on the left side of his neck.

“Oswald!” Victor snapped, moving to take a seat on the couch by the fireplace. The pain didn't bother him. His body was wired differently; things that would debilitate others merely irritated him. Pain was something that focused him, something that made him **feel** when nothing else could. He was a masochist, but not in the strictly sexual sense (though it was present there as well).

“Victor?” Oswald called back from where he was, sitting in the kitchen reading the paper, awaiting his return.

“Who else would it be?” Victor grumbled. He was angry at himself for his failure. He had been looking forward to the kill, to the methodical placing of the body and the planting of evidence. Flanagan's spot on his arm was unmarked, the paleness of his skin there a scarlet letter denoting his failure. He would have been Zsasz's sixtieth kill. It would plague him, he knew, until he was able to complete the job.

“How should I know? I didn't expect you back so soon, and usually when someone is in my home they're here to irritate me in some way. Or try to kill me... Or, if I'm being honest, some healthy mixture of both – Victor!” Oswald's eyes went wide as he saw his neck, and general state of disarray.

“I failed. His house was rigged up with all sorts of booby traps, mostly very small scale explosives... except for the little one he had in the kitchen that launched a bunch of fucking knives and forks at me.” Victor said, bitterly. He watched as Oswald moved out of sight for a moment before returning with a black bag in hand.

“You're about as useful as the GCPD, do you know that?” Oswald sighed, but there was no real criticism in his words. Despite that, it stung to hear and he didn't reply.

“I don't like seeing you mope. Don't mope.” Oswald regained some of his forcefulness as he opened the bag; it was a medical kit. He had them stashed all over the manor. Someone who was beaten up as often as Oswald was needed to be prepared.

I don't like my kills getting away. I don't like failing.” Victor told him. He also didn't like feelings, but was unable to keep what few he had hidden from the other man.

“No one likes failing. I hate it and it happens to be the thing I'm best at.” Oswald remarked, beginning to strip the coat and shirt from the other man's body to tend to his wounds. Zsasz didn't react to it; it wasn't the first time the tiny man had undressed him, and not the only situation in which it had happened.

“You bounce back far easier than I do.” Zsasz closed his eyes as Oswald began to tend to his wounds, giving soft grunts when bits of shrapnel had to be removed from a spot on his side that he hadn't noticed.

“I don't bounce back. I just get angry, or sad, or both.”

Zsasz opened his eyes and regarded him for a moment. Oswald was focused on his impromptu medic stint, but his expression was calm and neutral.

“You aren't angry at me.” He observed.

Pale eyes looked up into his, and a little smirk was his reward for the observation.

“Of course not. I expected you to kill him, but I planned for this just in case. I'm on good terms with Riley, and I made sure to go to dinner with him earlier, insisting that it be just the two of us. His capo remained away, dealing with a small matter on the other side of town... At dinner, I brought up my own suspicions about his man, and I think I swayed him well enough that the blame will still be placed on his right hand. Considering the man in question will be gone for the next day or so... you'll get your mark. You always do.” Oswald looked to his arms, head tilting a little as he searched for the set of four that had yet to be crossed by a fifth.

When he found it, he leaned down to kiss it. Though the specter of his failure still loomed over him, Victor couldn't help but to relax and refocus at the gentle touch. He smiled a little, bringing a hand up to cup Oswald's cheek, kissing him.

“I should have known you had a plan.” Zsasz grinned against his mouth.

“I always do.” Oswald chuckled as the other man pulled him into his arms.

Victor's wounds could wait.

 


End file.
